


The Corn Maze

by kingbooooo



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, James in a sweater, James loves fall!, Lady Jane's Pumpkin Patch, M/M, POV Alternating, just a light dusting of smut, seasonal whimsy, the corn maze is a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingbooooo/pseuds/kingbooooo
Summary: “Oh…” James had murmured, seeing the sign directing them to the entrance, accompanied by a large aerial photo of the maze.  It had a fall-theme design with the name of the farm in cursive, a pumpkin, and for some reason a large sailing ship and a polar bear that had what appeared to be a ghost coming from its mouth.  Didn’t seem very seasonal, Francis thought.  Or coherent.- - -Francis and James try to have some seasonally-appropriate fun.  Disagreements ensue about whether to use a map.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 15
Kudos: 44





	The Corn Maze

“I hate the corn maze,” Francis grumbled. “This is stupid.”

“Say it a little louder, I think there are still a few people at the pumpkin patch who are operating under the illusion that you are actually enjoying your time here, Francis,” James said, not bothering to look back at him.

Francis frowned, feeling a little embarrassed. That was the point, he guessed. He had been rather grumbly, he had to admit, but there were far too many _families_ and _children_ and _fun_. Worst of all-

“We don’t need a map!” James had dragged Francis past the booth, right into the maze. Francis had managed to snatch a map off the corner of the table, an apologetic glance at the poor teenager managing the booth, folding it and hiding it securely in his jacket pocket. His insurance policy. He did not intend to spend eternity in a corn maze.

He loved James, fiercely and deeply. But it often felt like their shared interests were the barest overlap in a Venn diagram. The pumpkin patch was everything that James loved. An “authentic” country store. A pumpkin decorating contest. A cannon that fired apples, which seemed overly violent and smelled delicious, a rather incongruous combination. A hayride – James had ridden it twice. 

But all of this seasonal whimsey paled in comparison to the corn maze.

“Oh…” James had murmured, seeing the sign directing them to the entrance, accompanied by a large aerial photo of the maze. It had a fall-theme design with the name of the farm in cursive, a pumpkin, and for some reason a large sailing ship and a polar bear that had what appeared to be a ghost coming from its mouth. _Didn’t seem very seasonal_ , Francis thought. _Or coherent_.

“Come on then!” James had grabbed his hand, walking at top speed towards the entrance, his long legs covering much more ground than Francis’ stride. He really had no choice – walk faster or get dragged.

“Why can’t we use the map?” Francis asked, his tone light.

“The point is to explore!” James said, smiling and turning left at a fork.

Francis was going to age years before they got out. He’d shaved this morning, he thought touching his chin, feeling the stubble that was growing in. He’d emerge with a full beard.

\- - -

“Put one hand on the wall,” James murmured to himself, one hand touching the corn stalks. He looked up. The corn towered above him, a feeling he generally wasn’t used to. It was nice, being out here in the fresh air. He spent so much time indoors and once they hit November, it was going to be rainy and cold and generally unpleasant.

It wasn’t all bad. James could pull out the underbed bin and get his sweaters out. He was particularly fond of the cream one with the thumbholes. “Keeps the hands warm!” he’d explained it when Francis had run a finger along the cuffs and made a series of nonverbal puzzling noises.

James took in a deep breath. It wasn’t too cold, just a bit of a bite in the air. It could rain, but it wasn’t currently, and the ground was dry. Everything smelled outdoorsy, dirt and clean air. And when they were out of the maze, they could pick out pumpkins and take them home. Wonderful!

Or it would be, but Francis was not having it, not having one bit of it. Did he think he was being subtle? He wasn’t. Francis was not shy about letting people know when he was upset, but not by actually telling anyone. No, no, that would require a degree of emotional honesty that Francis struggled with on the best of days. Instead, it was grumbles, eye rolls, snide comments, and a series of dramatic sighs. And he had the gall to accuse James of being overly emotional. _Anger is also an emotion, Francis,_ he thought.

James didn’t care, he was going to enjoy the corn maze in spite of Francis’ grousing.

He turned the corner.

“Dead end!” he called out to Francis, who was struggling behind him.

“For fuck’s sake,” was the muffled reply.

James rolled his eyes.

“Just an opportunity to keep exploring!” James said cheerily. He was not going to let that crank ruin things. It wasn’t his fault that Francis didn’t believe in fun. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you do the haunted corn maze! Ooooh!” He wiggled his fingers at the stormcloud that was Francis, who frowned even deeper as James breezed past. Did he hear paper crinkling? No matter. James turned down the path ahead of Francis.

What a lovely day!

\- - -

What a miserable day.

James had found another dead end. Francis tried, vainly, to contain his anger. He wanted to rage. Instead he let out a protracted sigh.

“If you roll your eyes any harder, they’re going to stick that way.” James called out, coming back around the corner. “This way!”

Francis waited until James had gone around another corner to pull out the map. It was getting a little crumpled, the ink flaking off at the folds, Francis trying to smooth it out. Next came the pen. It wasn’t the best option – the ink was getting a bit smeared on the gloss of the paper.

He squinted at it. They were…here. No. There. Francis held the map very close to his face, then turned and looked back where they had come from.

He liked using the map, not just because he wished to spend what was left of his earthly existence anywhere but within the confines of the corn, but because that was the point, wasn’t it? Finishing the corn maze. He liked completing things. When he went out shopping, it was with a list and a plan. When James went out, he’d come back several hours later with three things from the list and five things that weren’t. Last week it was scented candles.

“Dead end!” he heard from James, off to the left. Francis looked quickly at the map, making an X with his pen, tucking the map back into his jacket before James returned, not a moment too soon. Had James seen? Francis didn’t think so, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. It was chilly, after all.

“I think it’s that way,” James said, coming up to Francis, who looked up at him. James was lovely, and he really was at home here at this godforsaken pumpkin patch. The chill had brought out a high rosy color in his cheeks, his hair tousled about his shoulders. On anyone else, that garish sweater he was wearing, with ghosts parading across the front, would have looked tacky, and yet on James, it was almost fashionable. He smiled that shy smile, his eyes merry.

For a moment, Francis forgot that he was in the middle of a muddy, awful corn maze. To be under the sunlamp of James Fitzjames’ attention made Francis somewhat uncomfortable. Not James’ fault. The why was not something Francis felt like questioning.

“Are you not enjoying this?” James bent in, hooking his arm under Francis’.

_No, you’re not. James should be with someone who loves pumpkin patches and this autumnal crap. Someone taller and thinner. Someone who would look amazing in a sweater and beautiful in a pumpkin patch rather than a frog in an oversized Christmas stocking._ Francis grumbled a reply.

“Grouch. Come on then!”

He thought James would dart ahead again. Not this time, unfortunately. James was walking quickly, escorting Francis along, whether he wanted to or not. 

“Hmmm.” They had reached another fork in the maze. They should go to the right, or at least Francis was fairly certain. He tugged towards the right.

“This way!” James turned toward the left.

_Christ._

\- - -

James went to walk down the path to the left, but Francis was stopping him.

“What?”

“We should go this way,” Francis said.

“Why?” He faced Francis, who shrugged and looked elsewhere.

“Just…ah…a feeling.”

James frowned. No, he should approach this with curiosity. He looked over his shoulder at the path to the left. It did look muddier than the one on the right.

“All right. Lead the way.”

James expected him to look pleased with James’ deference to Francis’ leadership. He’d been in a bad mood all day. Well, worse than his taciturn default.

Instead, he looked almost annoyed. Wasn’t this what Francis wanted? What had James done wrong? He cleared his throat, pausing to rearrange his face into a more pleasing expression. Something farther from irritation and closer to expectation.

“This way,” Francis said. He held his elbow out, James hooking his arm through it. Francis seemed to stand a bit taller. Maybe having James on his arm gave him some strength. Decision made, Francis turned to the left, James right beside him.

\- - -

Francis was able to recall the next few turns in the maze. After that, it was more instinct. Not that he knew a damn thing about mazes, but he had an excellent sense of direction. He’d never gotten lost, not truly lost in the sense of the word.

Delayed, yes. Never his fault, really. One time the ferry he was on broke down, the engine spewing black smoke, his car smelling like diesel for a week. They’d sent out a tugboat to tow the ferry back in. James had been at turns upset and relieved. 

Then there was the time he went out for a hike with a friend. He’d be back for supper, he told James.

“Good! I’m making your favorite. With capers!”

Blanky had said he had a map, but he hadn’t said it was hand-drawn, landmarks helpfully labeled with such things as “large tree” (it was a hike, there were a lot of trees and they were all above average), “rock that looks like an iceberg,” and least helpful, “big pile of stones.”

They had gotten very lost, Blanky wandering about, pointing in various directions with a camping spork before Francis had grabbed the map, crumpled it up, stuffed it into his backpack, and looked up at the sky for a solid five minutes before leading them out of the woods.

James was furious. The next time Francis had gone out on a hike, James insisted on Francis taking a compass, three maps, and bear mace.

“There aren’t any bears in the area, James.”

“Not for bears. It’s for Blanky if he tries to get you to check out a cool new trail that’s not on the map.”

Francis looked up. They’d come to another fork. He paused, rocking back on his heels slightly.

“Uh….”

He really wanted to look at the map.

“Why don’t you look down that way, and I’ll look here?” Francis suggested, looking up at James hopefully.

“Sure,” he said, sliding his arm out, smiling at Francis. Francis returned his smile, waiting until James went around the corner before pulling the map out, peering at it, smoothing it out, instantly lost in trying to puzzle out where they were.

\- - -

Finally Francis was getting into this! He loved the outdoors, so James wasn’t sure why he was so averse to the idea of the maze. Oh, he said it was fine, but Francis clearly wasn’t enjoying himself.

A dead-end. James looked at the wall of corn.

“No way out!” James called as he turned back. Francis was back where James had left him. Had he even gone down the other side to check? And what was he fiddling with?

“This way.” Francis pointed to the right. Well, Francis was good at directions, James shouldn’t doubt him. 

Traversing the maze fell into a pattern. They’d arrive at an intersection. Francis would frown and pick a direction. An intersection with three paths gave Francis a bit more pause, but he was doing very well, hadn’t led them down towards a single dead-end.

“Remarkable!” James said as they reached a part of the maze where the path led up to a short catwalk. They’d gone underneath it about ten minutes before, James reaching up, his fingers brushing along the cold metal, rust flaking off. Now that they were on the bridge, James tarried, leaning on the railing as Francis hurried on.

“Wait!” James called out. “Don’t you want to see the view?” Francis returned, his shoulders and brow radiating reluctance. James slid an arm around Francis’ waist, the tightness in Francis, that everlasting tension coming down one notch, small but significant.

“You know what,” James bent in, feeling Francis tense again. “We could…you know… He waited until Francis glanced up, still frowning, but a glint in his eye.

“We could what?” One of the corners of his mouth moved, the frown going from irritation to thoughtfulness. That slight movement, good god. Francis had so little comprehension of what he did to James.

It had been that small gesture a few months back, that tiny opening. James had flirted shamelessly with the cranky deep-sea fisherman (“retired!” Francis had reminded him). He didn’t really think he had much of a chance, Francis so unlike any of James’ other conquests. For one, he didn’t feel like a prize. He felt like a human being, stubbornly refusing to fit into James’ reductive ideas of possible romantic partners.

So he’d flirted and flirted and flirted. Francis didn’t rise to the occasion, but neither did he rebuff James’ advances.

“I don’t even know how to fish,” James said, leaning over Francis’ desk, tossing his head back so that his hair was out of his eyes. He was supposed to be getting Francis to buy advertising in a local outdoor sports magazine. James lost track of how many times he’d been there, but he was close to closing the deal. He could feel it.

“If you stop tossing your hair like a show pony, I could teach you.”

James paused, mid-shake, peering at Francis, the lock falling back across his eye. Francis was filling out some paperwork. He hadn’t looked up.

“Show pony!”

Francis nodded. “Like the ones my niece rides.” He glanced up, still frowning, but a fraction less harsh. “Would you like me to bring you an apple, or do you prefer a cube of sugar?”

A stiff breeze brought him back to the present, to the very real Francis right next to him.

“Do what?” Francis’ frown deepened again.

James smiled, bending in so that his breath warmed Francis’ ear. 

“Well. First I’d let you take off all my clothes…”

\- - -

The things James was saying! The mouth on him. Francis didn’t stop him, feeling his cheeks heat up as James described in exquisite detail where James was going to put his mouth and how he was going to suck Francis off.

“When you’re nearly there, I’ll stop,” James said.

Francis looked up. James’ eyes were dark, his face rosy and bright. “And then?”

James shrugged and smiled. “What then indeed, Francis.”

Francis laughed quietly, his chest tight.

“Mmmm. What do you want? What do you need?” Francis asked. “I think what you need is for me to fuck you through the bedframe.” He heard James’ breath hitch. “Would you like that?” He took a beat, waiting for James’ response.

He’d thought James was nothing but a flirt and a tease. He was both of those things, but he was also loyal and kind and trusting. He was fun. Francis hadn’t ever been with someone so exciting. Sure, his moods could be a bit volatile, but he felt things so deeply, so earnestly, including his feelings for Francis.

And he was so goddamned _responsive_.

“Go on,” James said, his voice a little breathy. “Go on, you tease.”

“You’re one to talk,” Francis countered, grinning and turning to face James, the misery of this Kafkaesque corn maze, a folk-horror set piece fading away. Perhaps it would anger some ancient harvest god, awakened and incited by such filth, rising up from the depths, fingers of cornsilk grabbing them by their ankles and pulling both of them under.

Francis considered the risk. If that happened, at least they wouldn’t have to finish the corn maze.

“You want me in you, don’t you?”

“Please, Francis.” James shifted where he stood. Had to be uncomfortable waltzing around in those tight jeans.

He’d begged the same way that first time he’d slept over. It was supposed to be one night. Instead, it was a whole weekend. An entire weekend with very little clothing involved. 

He’d begged.

It was hot. And it helped Francis’ confidence, enormously. James clearly knew what he liked, Francis less so, James more than happy to figure it out together.

“There, yes,” he’d gasped as Francis pressed two well-lubricated fingers into him, James’ thighs tensing, urging him on, a thready “more, more.”

“Yeah?” Francis had asked, James on his back, his legs spread, his cock hard and heavy in Francis’ free hand.

“Please.” His voice was a bare plea. “Francis, if you don’t-”

He’d replaced his fingers with his own cock, pushing in, James’ groan matching Francis’, James’ head falling back. Francis had paused, waiting for another entreaty. It’s what he’d expected.

“Go on then,” James had said, grinning, looking up, a sheen of perspiration on his face, one curl plastered to his forehead. “Fuck me like you mean it. I’m not made of fine china.”

So he had.

All weekend. 

James moving in felt like a logical conclusion, a box of things materializing in his wake every time he came over to see Francis.

The cold snaked under Francis’ sweater. They were still on that damned bridge. Halfway through the maze. No, more than half. Still a very long way away from the exit.

“And I’ll let you,” James said, grinning, “once we get back home.” He ducked in to kiss Francis on the cheek before darting forward, down the steps and back into the maze.

He was such a damned tease.

Sighing, Francis rolled his eyes and followed after him.

Back into the maze proper, it took Francis longer to make a decision.

“Why don’t I look down this way?” James volunteered. “And you look that way!” He ducked to the left, giving Francis time to pull the map back out. It looked like James had gone down the correct path. He held it closer to make sure, not hearing James’ return. A small noise behind him alerted him.

Too late. A long arm reached over Francis’ shoulder, snatching the map away as Francis hunched over it before he could hide it again.

“Hey!” Francis protested.

James held the crumpled paper up, puzzlement melting into comprehension. And betrayal. His mouth hardened into a small line.

“Francis,” James looked pointedly at him. “What the fuck?”

Francis stood there, his face red with shame.

“Ah. That.”

“We weren’t going to use the map!” James was upset, disproportionately so.

“No, you didn’t want to use the map. I made no such agreement.”

James was turning pink, and not from the cold.

“Part of the fun is exploring the maze! Christ, Francis, I’m not the one who’s been bitching since we got here!”

“Only because you insist on finding every goddamned dead end! We’ll have walked the entire maze by the time we finally get out. We’ll starve. We’ll have to eat our own shoes.” Francis was aware that their voices were starting to carry, the fight escalating far past the parameters of his deception. “I’ll have to bury you in the corn, hide you so the predators can’t find your body.”

James’ face was nothing but a scowl, the grooves along his face deepening like scars. It made him look a bit like a Victorian street urchin. All he needed was a newsboy hat and a cockney accent.

“Why do you assume I’d die first? And so what if I want to go down every path! It’s fun to explore! It’s about the journey!” James was now at the stage of anger that involved a lot of outsized gesticulating.

“No.” Francis stabbed a finger at the tattered map. “It’s about finding the exit. I don’t want to spend two hours trapped in the corn, waiting for death to claim us!”

“You mean you don’t want to spend two hours with me!”

Overhead, the clouds had begun to gather. As James made his final point, they opened, and it began to rain.

\- - -

James had stunned Francis into silence. Good.

“You may be a good navigator, but you’re a cheater,” James said, squinting at the map. It was creased and crumpled and now it was starting to get wet, with a large hole where Francis had poked the map for emphasis.

James strode forward, Francis spluttering and catching up. He didn’t trust himself not to say something mean just to be cruel, a habit he’d never been able to shake. _Can’t get hurt if I hurt them first._ James walked faster, hearing Francis’ shoes splash in the mud. If he wanted out of the maze, fine. They’d get out of the maze.

That was the problem with Francis. He was so cantankerous that it was near impossible to tell when he was actually enjoying himself. James was more outgoing, more adventurous, Francis cautious and reluctant when it came to change or chances. They’d had a conversation about the next step of their relationship, Francis turning red and stumbling over his words.

“I…I love you, James, you know that, but I, or rather and, um, well-”

James had kissed him. It was easier than sitting through Francis trying to complete that sentence. He hadn’t brought it up again, but James had brought over a toothbrush. The next week, Francis had made room in his closet, not that he had much to move out of the way. His wardrobe was woefully small. James had smiled ruefully at Francis’ gesture, and began bringing his things over, box by box. 

He’d also begun bringing Francis along with him, to anything, really. It was their thing. Francis would say he didn’t want to go. He’d protest mildly and then begrudgingly admit he’d had a great time.

At least James thought it was their thing.

Maybe it was good to find out now that Francis didn’t actually like spending time with him. That he actually didn’t like going out with James at all, and just said so to be polite. No matter that this didn’t make sense. James’ mind was unconcerned with logic, running blindly to the inevitable conclusion that Francis didn’t like any of the things James liked. That he didn’t like James at all.

He felt a tear prick his eye, brushing it away with the rain that was now pelting them mercilessly. He looked at the map again. They were getting close to the end, now winding their way through the part that spelled out Lady Jane’s Pumpkin Patch in script when viewed from above.

James could still hear Francis behind him. _Better keep up, old man, or I’ll leave you behind._

They were making good time when he heard the cry and the sound of a wet thud.

\- - -

Damn James and those impossibly long legs. Francis was having a hard time not thinking about those legs wrapped around him, holding him as he rocked into James, wringing every possible sound out of him. It was a supremely inopportune time for such a thought to arise. He wasn’t entirely upset, merely distracted.

“Slow down!” he’d called out. James didn’t hear, or he did and he was pretending he didn’t. Francis probably deserved it, and he did want to be out of the maze. It was cold and the wet was seeping through his sweater. His shoes were soaked. And it was muddy, the path turning into something out of WWI trench warfare.

“Wait!” he yelled, taking another step. His shoe, which hadn’t had much traction in the first place, failed to find the barest grip, meeting only slick, smooth mud.

Francis’ leg must have gone out from under him. He recalled windmilling, but only after he found himself on his back, blinking away rain falling right into his eyes.

He could just stay there, become one with the mud. He must have yelled something, because he blinked again, and there was James, standing over him.

“Hi,” Francis said faintly.

James sighed and held out a hand, helping him up. It was a messy, difficult process. Francis fell down again and nearly took James with him, James getting a not insignificant amount of mud on his jumper. His hair was soaked, flat against his head.

“For god’s sake, James, wait!”

James had turned to leave, pausing defeatedly. “What?”

“Slow down! Please!”

“Why? You don’t want to be spending any more time with me, do you? You hate it. You hate going out with me.” Hurt crept into James’ voice.

Oh. Oh no, Francis had really stepped in it, hadn’t he?

“James Fitzjames, this bloody corn maze is not an indictment of our entire relationship! I like spending time with you! I love you!” He set his jaw. “What I do not like is meandering around in a maze for an hour. Two. Five. I like completing things. Using a map isn’t cheating! It’s efficient. Don’t you see? And now I have mud everywhere. I’m cold. I’m hungry. And if I never see another goddamned ear of corn again I will die happy.”

James’ brow unknit as he stopped in towards Francis.

“I just like exploring, s’all,” James said, enveloping Francis in his arms.

“I know. I didn’t mean to spoil the fun. No more than I usually do with my moods.”

“That’s all right.” James kissed the top of his head. “My grumpy frog.” 

“I’m all muddy,” Francis murmured into James’ sodden jumper.

“Me too. I’m sorry we fought.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too. I am rather fond of you, you know.” Francis said as James stepped back, James’ long finger pushing Francis’ hair back off his forehead. It was sticking up a bit, he knew, the way it did after a shower.

“And I love you.”

“Then let’s get out of this fucking maze.”

James held up the map, looking at what remained, crumpled, soaked, and clinging to the last shreds of structural integrity. 

“Which way do you reckon is the exit?” Francis asked.

James pointed to the left. “That-a-way, but it’s still a bit. We have to get through the part that looks like a pumpkin.”

“What about the nearest edge?”

James looked confused. “Uh. I think the nearest wall is that way,” he gestured to the right. “But that’s-” 

“We make our own passage.” Francis turned and went barreling towards the corn.

\- - -

It was not quite as tidy as James thought Francis had assumed it would be, but the burly grouch had left a series of Francis-sized holes in the corn. It was three walls he went crashing through before a woop of success reached James’ ears while he was still stepping through the first hole.

He found Francis standing outside, bits of corn silk stuck to the mud he’d managed to get splattered nearly everywhere.

“That’s certainly one way to solve the corn maze,” James remarked as they picked their way through the pumpkin patch, back to the car.

“Look, I told you. I like solving things.” They were both thoroughly drenched, Francis pulling out extra beach towels from the trunk, wriggling out of his sweater before sliding behind the wheel.

“Seems like cheating.” He looked over, smiling to let Francis know he meant no offense. 

“On the contrary, dearest.” He started the car. “We solved the maze. We didn’t use the map, and we explored alternative routes. I’d rate that a full success, wouldn’t you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I like to write multi-chapter deeply introspective fics interrogating the characters' deepest fears and motivations and sometimes I want to write 4000 word fics where Francis and James get in a fight in a corn maze because James loves mazes and Francis hates fun.
> 
> This does not exist in the same cinematic universe as my Naked British Baker trio.
> 
> Every year (except this one – sob) my friends and I go to a local pumpkin patch and corn maze and every year the group I’m with doesn’t want to use the map. We spend at least an hour and a half inside the maze, my bitching only growing louder the longer we spend inside. You can probably guess who I would agree with in this competing goals and values showdown that Francis and James experience.
> 
> I can’t say I’m upset we’re not doing the corn maze (one year I slipped in the mud and was VERY cross) but I do miss everything else.
> 
> Anyway, fuck the corn maze. Team Francis.
> 
> The biggest of thank-yous to Kami who lets me bounce ideas off him all the time and helps me proofread. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> Come find me on Twitter! It's kiingboooo (two i's)


End file.
